As I mentioned on FB, a sample of items from the latest book, This Poem, That Poem. The first three are from the first section, "A Few Minutes Past the Hour;" the fourth is from "Thinking Like a Greek."
The
Funeral of Jennie Carlson Bourgo (Spring, 1952)
Both
Jon and I were little boys,
and
adult noise
was
everywhere.
We
must not stare.
There
was some reason to be here,
that
much was clear,
though
Dad was mum,
and
Mom seemed glum.
It
was too hot, our collars tight.
None
saw our plight.
Ringed
by flowers,
we
sat for hours.
Cain
and Abel
Eons
back in times of fable,
Cain
killed Abel—
our
starting point
put
out of joint.
The
first man born was first to kill,
a
human skill
we
rightly dread,
but
will not shed.
The
second was the first to die.
We
could ask why,
but
to what aim?
We
know the game.
A
Poem for My Diamond Jubilee
As
I approached my seventy-fifth,
it
seemed a myth,
some
line from song,
to
live so long.
If
genes were all, I would be dust,
bereft
of lust,
caught
in the chill
that
comes with still.
Instead
I’m here and on my feet:
I
feel the beat
and
write my verse.
It
could be worse.
The Best Laid Plans
“Actions always planned are
never completed.” (Democritus)
The aim we had, that perfect plan
too soon will wander out of hand.
Chance may hold sway and won’t be spurned;
here is the lesson to be learned:
all our work and best provisions
may necessitate submissions
to the workings of cruel fate,
which never gets the story straight.
